


Slaughterhouse Love

by TheDVirus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anniversary, Electricity, Electrocution, Gift Exchange, Gift Giving, Kissing, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Nygmobblepositivity, Nygmobblepot, Nygmobblepot Week 2017, Rough Kissing, Secret Relationship, Touching, nygmobblepot week, nygmobblepotweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 07:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12127347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: First fic for Nygmobblepot Week, Prompt: 'Murder Husbands'Ed and Oz celebrate their anniversary as only they can.





	Slaughterhouse Love

Ed gives a compulsive shiver.  
It has nothing to do with the frigid air of the slaughterhouse he is standing in and everything to do with heady excitement.  
He glances around the large area.  
Around him, seven men stand idle, fidgeting and talking in hushed voices. They are wearing dark green suits identical to Ed’s but without the signature bowler hat and of far inferior quality to Ed’s comfortable ensemble. It is an aesthetic display of unity that Ed insisted upon when he recruited them to join his venture.   
Some had grumbled at first but when Ed had outlined his plan to eliminate The Penguin, they couldn’t give him their measurements fast enough. They have even agreed to wear the shiny black dress shoes that Ed has specified. 

There is a loud creak as the abattoir door opens.   
Ed smiles as he hears the distinctive sound of Oswald’s limping gait on the hard, concrete floor. Only one pair of footsteps are approaching which means Oswald has listened to Ed’s specification that he come alone to the slaughterhouse.  
Everything is perfectly falling into place.

He gives a slow clap as Oswald enters the room where he and his co-conspirators have been waiting.   
To his credit, Oswald does not look shocked. His eyes narrow as he registers the multiple armed men and one eyebrow rises in an unimpressed expression.   
Ed spins a nearby hanging carcass with one gloved fingertip. Oswald’s eyes follow errant blood droplets as they fall from the pallid meat onto the stained floor.

‘Fooled you twice’, Ed says, ‘At least this time you didn’t bring any excess baggage with you. It’ll save me some bullets’.

Oswald glares at him and Ed simply smirks in reply.

‘You knew I would come find you?’ Oswald asks in a steely voice.

‘Of course’, Ed replies, ‘You and I both know you can’t resist me’.

Ed’s smile fades as Oswald bursts into laughter. A couple of Ed’s compatriots exchange confused looks.   
Oswald’s laughter dies away and he wipes away tears of mirth.

‘Oh Ed’, he sighs, eyes hardening, ‘Don’t flatter yourself. Your phonecall was convincing I’ll give you that but give yourself some credit: the Edward Nygma I know would never allow himself to be captured by a bunch of Neanderthals like these’. 

This time, Oswald spins a nearby carcass and runs a hand along the icy flesh.

‘Everyone knows only I will have the privilege of killing you’, he remarks snidely before giving a nearby thug a condescending once-over, ‘And a pig is still a pig even if it wears a suit’.

Oswald grunts in pain as one of the thugs smacks him hard on the head with the butt of his pistol.  
Oswald staggers and grabs the hanging carcass to stay on his feet.  
Ed holds up an imperious hand to dissuade any other outbursts and the overenthusiastic thug shuffles away.

‘It’s not a good idea to insult people brandishing guns at you’, Ed says, idly examining his question mark cane.

‘And since I’m not dead yet, I take it you have a more colourful fate in store for me?’

‘I’ve been considering an intriguing question lately: at what temperature does a Penguin feel the cold?’

‘You should know all about feeling the cold’.

‘I remember very keenly’, Ed growls, ‘Unlike you though, I’m not interested in a trophy. These gentlemen however…’

Oswald’s head swivels at a clicking noise. One thug is spinning a screwdriver dexterously between the fingers of one hand and another is snipping a pair of bolt cutters open and closed.

‘I imagine it will be like those old statues in Italian museums’, Ed muses, ‘Funny how they become so much more interesting with bits missing’.

‘I always knew my little finger was worth more than ten of these idiots’.

‘Depending on the buyer (and the body part) of course. I bet you wish you had some hired help of your own right now’.

‘Why? Do you want a bigger audience to watch you fail?’

‘And what’s going to stop me?’

Oswald’s eyes flick around and Ed sees them dart to his umbrella. Ed laughs at Oswald’s desperation.

‘You tell me’, Oswald says finally.

Ed’s eyes light up.   
His moment has arrived at last.

‘An _umbrella_ may keep you dry’, Ed says, tapping his cane on the ground, ‘but it won’t help you get a better _handle_ on the situation’.

Oswald sees Ed wink and understands it to be the signal he has been warned to watch for.

Clicking the button hidden on his umbrella’s curved handle, Oswald taps the metal point once on the ground in mimicry of the way Ed has just moved his cane.

The thugs don’t even have time to blink before electricity surges beneath their feet, generated from the hidden mechanism in Oswald’s umbrella. Ed has ensured the floor is damp and that each thug is wearing dress shoes secretly lined with aluminium.   
The killing floor lives up to its name as after a few agonising, lethal seconds, every thug drops dead, cooked alive in the boiling blood surging through their electrified bodies.

Except one.  
The same man who clubbed Oswald on the back of the head stares dumbly, mouth agape at the blistered faces of his compatriots. Smoke rises, mingling with the cold vapours of the freezer system.

‘Rubber soles’, Oswald comments unaffected thanks to his own rubber soled shoes just as Ed has planned, ‘Smart move’.

Oswald’s taunt seems to inject some life into the man who raises his pistol giving an angry, wordless roar.  
Only for it to be swallowed down with a choked gurgle as Ed slices his throat open.  
He shows the man the knife as he begins to fall, widened eyes glassy as his fingers paw uselessly at the hole where his throat used to be.  
Ed feels a twinge of annoyance. A perfect score ruined because of a pair of orthopaedic shoes.

‘Hurting Oswald?’ Ed says, staring down at the dying man coldly, ‘Not so smart’.

He feels something smooth slide around his neck and his attention is suddenly drawn away from the dying man.

Oswald loops the handle of his umbrella around Ed’s neck and pulls him gently yet firmly into a deep, passionate kiss.

Ed inhales deeply, savouring the mingling scents of Oswald’s cologne and the ozone like smell rising from the umbrella’s point. The tingling aroma makes the hairs on the back of Ed’s neck stand up and fans the flame of arousal blossoming in his stomach.

Oswald draws back for breath and laughs as he sees Ed’s glasses have steamed up.

‘This mean you like your present?’ Ed asks, cleaning them with a crisp, white handkerchief, before replacing them.

Oswald looks down at the purple umbrella fondly, the bone handle carved into a bird’s head and long neck smooth to the touch as he turns it in his hands. The handwritten note that had been left with the umbrella is now safely in his desk back at his office. Oswald had recognised Ed’s script as soon as he had opened it earlier that day. It had contained instructions for how to use the umbrella and details of the opportunity Ed had arranged for him to do so.  
Ed made it himself.  
Just for Oswald.

‘I love it’, Oswald beams, ‘Did you like yours?’

Ed looks down at the still twitching corpses and smiles.   
Oswald loves that smile: the points of Ed’s sharp white teeth peeking out from between his pink, soft lips.

Oswald had left his card on their bed the previous morning along with breakfast prepared on a tray. Much as he had been hesitant to leave his and Ed’s secret love nest, he had been forced to leave Ed dosing in bed to attend to business in the city.  
The card had simply contained a list of names and details of where to find their owners.  
Each name belonged to one of Oswald’s enemies which made them fair game for Ed’s machinations. It had been child’s play for Ed to track them down convince them he wanted to finally take revenge on Oswald: nobody in Gotham had any idea they were in a relationship and had been for a year. All part of the deliberately calculated façade he and Oswald had created to keep their real enemies on the back foot.  
But Ed had still been surprised when none of the gangsters had questioned why Ed had told them to meet him at an inhospitable locale like the slaughterhouse for the planned revenge against Oswald.  
The answer was simple: because after Ed and Oswald were finished, the gangsters would be ‘dead meat’.  
Ed is still hard just thinking about the look in each man’s eyes as they died. He deliberately watched each one when Oswald tapped the floor and the current had taken hold of them in its remorseless, jagged grip.  
The look of knowing they were dying. That they had been beaten. That they had been fooled.  
All at the hands of The Riddler.  
Their killer and their superior.

‘Loved it’, Ed sighs with satisfaction.

‘I can see that or rather…’

Ed gasps as Oswald suddenly grips the conspicuous bulge in the front of his trousers.

‘ _Feel_ that’, Oswald finishes with a cocky smirk.

Ed pushes him against the white wall of the killing floor and Oswald gives a husky breath as Ed leans over him, eyes dark, enticing, hungry.

‘Happy anniversary Oswald’, he whispers, tearing off his tie.

‘Happy anniversary, Riddler’.

Oswald laughs wickedly as Ed, his tenuous grip on control broken by Oswald speaking his true name, begins to suckle hard at his neck, his teeth holding Oswald in place as he paints his skin a vivid, bruised purple.  
The enticing smell of roasted meat fills the chilled air and fresh blood paints the floor a livid crimson as the two apex predators of Gotham begin the next phase of their passion play.


End file.
